Fated
by yourloved
Summary: Arya likes her life in Winterfell with only her family and the winter snows around her. But as the royal visit approaches will she find a new friend in the young Prince... Will fate control her or will she make her own fate.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One **

She had to hurry quietly along the walls to remain undetected. If anyone noticed her missing, she would be dragged back to sitting on a stool and being made to sit and gossip with all those stupid, boring ladies. And sew. To Arya, that was the absolutely worst aspect for being forced back into that room. She utterly and completely detested sewing. She was defiantly no perfect lady like Sansa.

But that had never mattered to her. She had always been untameable. She had always had a wildness, an impulsivity that made her more a wild Stark wolf of the North than a refined Tully fish of further south like her composed mother and sister. Even now, Sansa was probably preoccupying her mother with chatter of whether she should wear her light blue dress with white detailing or her white dress with blue detailing for the impending arrival of the royal party. She rolled her eyes again at that thought.

She glanced around the corner she was standing at, peeking to ensure herself that their was no awaiting guard, family member or servant that would spot her immediately and then hoist her back to that insufferable room where she would be forced to meet her mothers disapproving glare.

She looked down the hall and seeing it completely empty continued on her way to the practice yard. She was almost there, the double doors that led out to the yards where her brothers would most likely be, were within sight. She hurried her pace a little, anxious to be out of the suffocating hall.

"And where are you going, my child?" a voice inquired firmly from behind her.

She froze quickly, a deer caught in a trap. Slowly turning, she looked up to see the slightly amused face of her father not far behind her, flanked by Jory.

"Father" she said smiling, "I was just going… well I was just going down to…"

She looked up at her Father, biting her lip.

Arya really had to practice her lying abilities and skills. She never had been an excellent liar, or even a remotely good lair, too blunt and straightforward for the delicate intricacies that lying entailed.

"You, my dear one, were going down to the practise yards to find your brothers" her Father said, looking quietly amused, "Oh Arya, should you not be with your Mother or sister, or perhaps even Septa Mordane?"

When he brought up her Septa, Arya felt herself suddenly become quite desperate for the pity that her father so commonly bestowed on her, anything not to be forced back into the care of that irritating woman.

"No please Father, do not send me back to that hell. It is worse than the deepest of the seven hells. Father, I just wanted to go and see how Bran was doing with the archery that Jon and Robb, and I think Theon, were teaching him. Really, I do not think that anyone will miss me," she fumbled out all in one giant breath, "Also Father, it is more of a danger for you to make me return to the sewing room with those women than in the training yard. I think I shall soon begin utilising my needle as a weapon if I hear of the Kings arrival or a sigh of hope of the Prince's handsomeness once more. Father, I will become a danger to those ladies. Either I will stab them with a needle or I will end myself. Please Father, do not make me return to them."

Her father had listened to her whole speech bemusedly as the twinkle in his eye had slowly increased as she continued rambling incessantly. He bent down so he was closer to Arya's eye level. That was something Arya had always loved about her Father. He always seemed so big and strong, a truly strong leader to the pack that was her family. Yet, he was also at the same time so loving, never making her feel small and irrelevant like her elder sister, and sometimes her mother, constantly did.

"Oh Arya, you are truly wild" he said looking amused, "Go silly girl before I change my mind and call your mother who will soon be looking frantically for you. Go and enjoy yourself"

She looked up at him. Though she had been counting on this being her Father's reaction, it was almost too good to be true. But as he gave her a push in the direction of the door, she did not doubt him and ran towards the freedom he was offering her.

She tried not to question why her father gave her such allowances, but she knew why in her heart. She was a constant reminder of his wild sister, the one who had caused so much havoc throughout Westeros with merely her beauty that rivalled a winter rose and her essence of utterly unrestrainable wildness. But she pushed that out of her mind as her face was touched the mid-morning sun as she reached the gate that led into the practise yard.

Her brothers were duelling. Bran sat watching them, his arrow and bow thrown carelessly behind him, forgotten in the intensity of the duel in front of him.

Their sword kept striking, the steel hissing under the force of the hits. Jon, her favourite brother was the better of the two, anybody could see that. He hit with more precision and strategy. There was a thought behind every move he made, a strategic end to it. Whereas, Robb was slightly more reckless, more carefree. He did not have to prove himself like Jon felt he had to. He was an heir, while Jon was a bastard. He could do no wrong.

Robb brought his blade down, forcing Jon to turn to face her in order to block the blow. His eyes immediately caught her and he laughed, lowering his blade and gesturing to Robb the new presence that they had acquired.

Robb turned and let out a laugh as both boys made forth towards her.

"Good Gods, Arya" cried Robb, "This must be a new record even for you, you normally take a lot longer to escape from sewing practise. How ever did you do it, sister, particularly with the upcoming visit of the Royal Family?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed, rolling her eyes at her borthers question, "Robb, just because you cannot escape Mother's scathing glaze, it does not mean that that same flaw falls to all her children. I simply walked out when her back was turned, praising Sansa for one stich or another," she said languidly.

Robb frowned while Jon let out a bark of laughter at her criticism. She had always been the best at sneaking around, though more specifically it was usually sneaking out that she did, most likely owing to her small and skinny stature.

She always just wanted to be with her brothers, fighting and laughing, not sitting around in a circle on dainty stools with women who were chattering and gossiping back and forth. She wanted to ride from dawn to dusk, go swimming in the Godswood pool whenever she pleased. She wanted to stay with her favourite brother, her bastard brother, Jon.

She looked up at Jon, smiled, and started walking towards him.

Jon looked at her, eyes narrowing in certainty that she was up to some mischief, but he played along, smiling at her, leaning over and ruffling her hair while saying "what are you up to, little sister?"

She smiled as innocently as she could as she leant up to wrap her arm around his shoulder.

"Nothing Jon, I just wanted a hug from my favourite brother" she said as he looked uneasily at her.

Just as he leant down to return her hug, albeit very suspiciously, she moved her other hand down and swiped the practice sword he had been holding right out of his hand.

She turned, forming into a position of a warrior, the practice sword, which was slighty too big for her tiny hands, poised over her shoulder ready to attack.

Robb and Bran laughed, they knew their sister too well, as did Jon while ducking to try and retrieve the sword his sister had stolen from him.

Arya giggled and darted around almost escaping from his clutches but he got her in the end and lifted her up as she laughed.

Suddenly, someone cleared a throat from behind them all, and all four siblings turned quickly to face the storm behind them.

Lady Catelyn was standing there, hands on her hips with an expression of utter distaste marring her usually beautiful features. Slightly behind her left shoulder, hiding from her brothers and sister, was Sansa almost mirroring the expression, though Arya thought while her Mother expression was only disgust, Sansa's was pinched with a slight hint of envy as she gazed on her siblings.

Arya often thought how beautiful her Mother was. Even in her older days, her hair still hung with an auburn lustre envied by young girls and her face remained beautiful, particularly when she laughed, with her twinkling blue eyes that normally shone with either mirth or amusement when directed at her youngest daughter. But that would all change if Jon was present within her eye line. Her visage would curl in utter distaste and an enraged expression followed any of his actions with a deep disapproval. It always angered Arya but she was not prepared to broach the subject whilst her Mother looked at her with that disapproval.

"Lady Arya Stark, what are you doing? I have been searching for you for almost nigh on an hour, I do not know why it did not occur to me to search the practice yards earlier. Where else would ones wild daughter who needs to be disciplined be?" her anger permeated the yard as she spoke.

Arya had been caught by her Mother, now she could do nothing. Had it been anyone else she would have ran to the refuge of the Godswood or the stable to saddle her horse. However, her Mother was just too terrifying in this state for her to run from. So she turned to pleading.

"Mother, please don't make me go back, please. I cannot bear to hear any more gossip or mutterings of the royal family. Please," she begged.

Lady Catelyn frown deepened as she listened, she began reaching out a hand, or claw as it seemed to Arya, to pull her back inside "Arya Stark, you are coming back inside with me now. Do not trying begging again and come along quickly".

With that, Arya felt herself being pulled back into the security of Winterfell in between her Mother and Sansa.

"Honestly Arya," her Mother muttered, "You are an absolute mess. Dirt here and mud there. Can you not keep one dress clean and untorn? The Royal Family will be here any day now and you still insist on running around in unbefitting clothes."

"Why should I be dressed nicely, I am not looking to impress anyone, am I?" she said indignantly, "I am more excited to meet King Robert, he was a very skilled warrior was he not Mother, and the Imp. I want to meet him too, see if I am taller than one person other than Rickon."

Her Mother let out a small laugh of amusement. Looking at her younger daughter, who showed so little of her own features, she said "And what if the Prince or some other wealthy man takes a liking to you. You would not be the first Stark to have a royal seek her hand."

"Don't be silly Mother," Arya chided, "Sansa will be the one that Prince Gendry takes a liking too. She's beautiful and talented at the more feminine arts. I am neither beautiful or feminine, Mother, I merely want to be left alone at Winterfell with my brothers."

Catelyn looked down at her during her whole speech with a look that Arya could only discern as pity and sympathy.

Catelyn reached over to her and stroked her hair, "My love, you are as beautiful as the winter snows that surround Winterfell…"

"Which have mud ravelled throughout them" said Arya as she tartly interrupted.

Her mother gave her a look that silenced her, leaning in she whispered, "Now my child, you must never ever repeat this to anyone, particularly not your sister, but Arya, in my youth when I looked like a mirror image to your elder sister, I had but a duel fought over me. However, in your Aunt's youth, that Aunt who you resemble so closely, well my love, she had a war fought in her honour. Trust me, my girl, you may not think anything of your wild beauty at the tender age of fourteen but one day you will take the world a storm."

Arya looked up at her Mother, looked at her loving face. She was grateful that she said that, her heart filled with an indescribable warmth that she could only think of to be love.

"Thank-you Mother, you are very kind."

"It is true, my darling. Now go, I will let you escape for today. But I have a feeling that tomorrow the King will arrive so view this as your last day of freedom, and enjoy it."

Arya face lit up with a grin and she scampered off back to the practise yards, not heeding how true the words were. This would be her last day of freedom as fate would have its way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

Normally when brushing through the red strands that decorated her head, Sansa would devote herself to untangling very knot and smoothing every thread of her thick hair. But today she did not dwell on such trivial disputes. Today she thought of only the King's visit with his family, and by family, Sansa only thought of the young Prince who would be at Winterfell within a couple of hours.

Would he be handsome, she wondered, would he be gallant and sweep her off her feet and take her to King Landing to be his Princess and eventual Queen after having fallen instantly in love with her. Would he make her his Queen of Love and Beauty at the next tournament. She would be so beautiful in that flower crown, she mused. She really hoped so. A golden Prince on a white destrier to take her away to be his golden Princess.

A knock interrupted her pensive state, startling her to back into the present. She turned in her seat and called for the person to enter, watching as her dear Mother walking in to the room and came to stand behind her, resting her pale hand on Sansa's shoulder. She smiled gently and pried the brush from Sansa's hand, beginning the process of brushing anew.

"How are you today, my lovely girl?" she asked.

"I am well, Mother. I am just preparing for the King's arrival. I am so very excited!" she said keenly.

"I know, my daughter, you have been looking forward to the visit since it was announced. I am here to make you presentable, not that you need much help with that, my love. You are so beautiful," she replied, smiling.

Sansa smiled prettily at her mother endearing comment, but then frowned as she realised something.

"But Mother, if I can always be presentable and beautiful, then why are you here and not a servant or Septa Mordane. Is there a reason why you are here?"

Her Mother smiled serenely down at her and gently began braiding her hair.

"My Darling, what are the words of my own house, my fathers house?"

"Family, Duty, Honour" Sansa recited dutifully.

"Correct. Now as I did when I married your father, you must remember these words during the King's visit. You now have sixteen years behind you, my love, I was hoping that perhaps the upcoming Royal visit may led to a betrothal between you and a noble Lord who will look after you. Hopefully, a respectable and good match to a good man."

Sansa took a deep breath trying to cover her immediate excitement at the thought of a betrothal.

"What about one of the Princes, could I not be promised to one of them?" she questioned excitedly.

Her mother looked down at her, a sly smile peeking out of the mask she had arranged her face into.

"Perhaps, my darling. Only time will tell. Your father is reluctant to give away any of his children into matrimony, so only time will tell," she said.

Sansa smiled, a small show of the pure elation bubbling in her heart and soul. She peeked out the window, which faced the road where the King's party would arrive, but her smile soured as she peeked out the window.

"Mother, look, its Arya, she's probably trying to escape again," Sansa said, frowning.

Her mother glanced out the window, and there was her youngest daughter, walking, almost running, out towards her brothers and the bastard. Then Arya stopped and started. Suddenly she was running at full speed towards the gates of Winterfell with an angry Septa Mordane on her heels, everyone around them roaring with laughter at little Arya Underfoot's great daring escape.

Sansa's face had slowly transformed into a disapproving sneer as she watch the scene play out. She looked up at her Mother who looked both annoyed yet amused by the young girl.

"Mother, you must make sure you control Arya while the King and his family are here. Please do not let her ruin everything with her disgusting habits. The King and Queen will be disgusted and they will never let me marry any Prince or Knight. Please," Sansa pleaded with her mother.

"Sansa, do not worry. Your sister will be approved of very much I think, particularly by the King," Catelyn said with a dreamy look in her eyes.

"Why Mother," Sansa nonplussed, "She is not well-mannered or kind, or at all beautiful."

Catelyn looked at her elder daughter with anger.

"Your sister is beautiful, you know it though she may not, Sansa. Do not let your jealously blind you from the truth. As for the King's approval, never you worry my dear daughter, do not worry."

With that she finished her daughter's braids in a contemplative silence while Sansa sat both ashamed and confused.

As Sansa had finially resolved to question her mother further, a horn sounded from the gate below. Sansa looked straight to her mother's eyes in the looking glass, her face conveying the state of complete eagerness that featured within her mind.

"They are here Mother, we must hurry, oh we must," Sansa almost yelled in pure excitement. She looked once more in the looking glass, to ensure she was as beautiful as she was famed to be.

"Yes my darling, I must go. Please come down to the courtyard as soon as you can. Also if you could find you sister, that would be excellent. I must go" and with that, her mother passed through the door, her hurried footsteps taking her down to the courtyard.

Sansa's eyes flittered from the door of her bedchambers back to the looking glass.

Time to attract a Prince, she thought smiling, time to be the perfect lady. Well, at least Arya will help in that regard being so unladylike, she mused spitefully as she hurried out of her chambers.

Arya had been dragged back to her chambers, washed, cleaned, had her hair pulled and brushed and finally been stuffed into a tight fitted dress that allowed her no room for escape. Thus naturally Arya was currently in a very resentful mood.

The only consolation was that after she had been dressed into her silver gown, she was left alone to find her brothers. However, when she could not find them, she went out through the Godswood in hopes of escaping the constant stressed bustle of Winterfell as the King's party came closer.

The Godswood were beautiful this time of year, she thought serenely.

The pond beneath the angry gaze of the weirwood tree was a sparkling blue and the red leaves of the surrounding trees were covered in very little snow, rather having a thin glaze of ice over them, giving the trees a more ethereal glow to them.

The one place Arya always felt calm was the Godswood. It was a sanctuary of peace for all true Starks. Arya knelt at the bottom of the weirwood tree, closing her eyes feeling the complete peace invade her senses. She was not a faith driven person but she did enjoy the peace she gained here.

Until she heard footsteps, or more likely hooves clapping on the dirt floor of the woods. Thinking it was her father, or one of her brothers trotting back towards Winterfell, she tried to remain in mediation to the Old Gods. But still they came closer, until they stopped not far from her.

She snapped her eyes open, and turned, eyes wildly searching for the source of noise that had disrupted her calm moment, an extremely rare occurrence for Arya.

Her eyes landed on a boy, or really a man, a really tall, strong-looking man, standing not far from her and staring directly at her holding a beautiful black stallion by a reign. As her eyes met his bright blue orbs, a small smile spread over his face, as he bowed slightly, inclining his head toward her.

"I am sorry to interrupt your time of prayer, my lady," he said in a pleasant voice, "But the beauty emanating from you as you knelt awed me. I shall leave you now".

Arya's face slowly morphed into a frown at his last words and she began to struggle to her feet.

"What? Don't be stupid. Who are you and what are you doing in the Godswoods?" she inquired aggressively, taking a step towards the boy.

"Ah, so these are the famed Godswoods. You know I always desired to see them for myself, the descriptions given by others never satisfied me. But it is beautiful here," the boy mused.

"Who are you?" Arya demanded once again but the boy just gave her a grin and moved closer into the woods allowing Arya time to observe him properly as he regarded the ancient trees.

He was very tall, well-built like a strong blacksmith. He was not dark skinned but a tanner colour than her pale as ice pallet. His black hair had been carefully trimmed to be at his nape, but Arya could tell that it had an untameable messiness to it. His clothes were dirty, like he'd to a degree that Sansa would have been disgusted had she been present.

"I am sorry, my lady, I was just riding, I will leave soon. I just saw the pool and wanted to water my horse," he said still looking around in wonderment until his eyes fixated back on her.

Arya was utterly transfixed by his eyes. They were as blue as what she had always imagined the home of Lady Brienne the Beauty, the Sapphire Isle of Tarth to be. Arya was one to appreciate blood and girt, but his eyes drew her in.

So she quickly looked away.

"Who are you" Arya repeated.

He laughed, a full jovial laugh.

"I think that in time you will know, my lady. Why are you out here all on your own? Should you not be inside sewing or some such?" he questioned.

Arya rolled her eyes and said guardedly "I have never been one for sewing at all, or gossiping. I prefer being out here or in the practise yards."

"I understand the Godswoods, my lady but the practise yards, very interesting. Do you try your delicate hand at swordplay?" he said slightly mockingly.

"Don't call me that, stupid," she snapped, "And so you know, I would whip you into shape if you ever crossed swords with me." With that she gathered her skirts and started to stalk off in a huff.

"My lady, please stop for a second. I did not mean to offend you," he explained apologetically, "I have never truly met a girl who was a swordsman, I mean, swordswoman. I have often encouraged my own younger sister to explore more than simply the feminine arts like yourself. So please do not misunderstand me, I would encourage your pursuit of swordplay."

Arya looked at him, stared at him, trying to discern whether or not he was truly being serious. She lifted her chin up and looked up at him with cold composure.

He smiled and walked directly over to her. When he was standing directly before her, he lifted her hand up as if to kiss the back of it, a common pastime that Arya decided she would allow him to fulfil. Though she decided mischievously that she might withdraw her hand at the last minute, so he kissed his own palm.

However, just as she thought he was about to kiss the back of her hand, he turned her hand over and pressed a kiss, that spanned slightly too long for what was proper, to the middle of her palm. He then carefully folded her fingers over the place where he had kissed her palm and bowed once more.

"Goodbye, my lady," he whispered intimately to her and then turned around and walked back to his horse and mounted it, shooting a smile her way before he rode off the way he had came.

Arya paused. She did not know how to react. She had never been treated like that, never felt so at ease to let a person apart from family, particularly a man, get so close to her.

No, she shook her confusion off putting it to the back of her mind, I will not think about it.

Another horn sounded in the distance, the King was arriving.

Her mother would not be happy for her to be later than she already was, so she picked up her skirts and hurried off towards Winterfell.


	3. Chapter 3

p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"The North was as stunning as it was untamed; Gendry reflected as he rode back from his visit to the Godswood, surveying the North from horseback. He and his younger siblings had decided that they quite liked the North as soon as the first linings of snow appeared on the edges of the King's Road. He liked the untamed beauty of the mountainous terrain. He liked the constant snowfall despite the frozen temperature it incited. And now he knew that he really liked Northern women. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"His desire to escape his younger brothers whining of his utter hated of the North and his father retelling of old battle stories had driven him to riding ahead before the party. However, the occurrence of coming across the Godswoods had been an interesting turn of the events which allowed him to stumble across an even more interesting creature. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"While riding his horse, Dalliance, he had seen a pool in the distance by chance. The pool had glittered in the most alluring way possible, beckoning him nearer, drawing him like a moth to the flame. Almost like he was fated to go to it. span style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanThe pool and its blue crystal like beauty had captured all his attention at first, but that had all changed when he noticed something much more enticing, a figure who remained unmoving at the bottom of a tree which had a terrifying face of sadness. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He couldn't see her face but she was still a sight to behold, a vision of pale winter beauty in a silver dress. So demure and sweet. She only grew more beautiful as she had faced him, eyes wildly enraged from having being disturbed by any person, revealing that despite her appearance there was nothing particularly demure about her at all. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"In reflection, he really should not have flirted so boldly with her but alas; Gendry was his father's son, hence kissing her palm, provoking her, was too tempting. Though he did not drink until dusk everyday or be constantly in the company of whores like his father had since his youth, he certainly did enjoy women. He was a man, a young boy with raging urges inside of him, having seen one and eight namedays pass. Desire had struck him like a forked bolt of lightning on seeing that particular girl. He desired her in an almost primal way the moment he had laid eyes on her, he was just completely engulfed in want. It was her fire that he liked, he decided, fire that was communicated by just her beautiful eyes. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"But it is no use, he thought glumly, she was probably a stewards daughter or some such and he was most likely to, if his father got his way which he inevitably would, be betrothed to the Lady Sansa to cement the crowned House Baratheon's ties with the North. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He sighed, what a travesty this would all be, most likely another ill-fated, loveless marriage if Sansa and he were incompatible. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Once Gendry had finally caught pace with his father and his guards, he was immediately called out for having been missing for so long. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"His father, on being notified of his eldest sons presence once again in the party, laughed and turned around on his horse as far as his huge belly would allow him too. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""Boy," the King yelled jovially, "Gendry, where are you, boy? Ah, there you are. What were you doing that took you an hour, lad? Your brother here had to take your place." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry spurred forward to his father's side in order to enable him to talk, looking at him with a tolerance that he had acquired over his life in dealing with him. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""I was fine, Father. Just riding, you understand. Young blood cannot sit still," he said style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /span/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He immediately regretted his choice of words as Robert burst into a loud, booming laughter that could probably have been heard from here to the wall. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""Young blood being active, eh. You are most defiantly my son out of all your brothers and sisters. Don't worry boy, I will soon find a wife to settle your young blood," he joked. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry smiled stiffly and nodded at his father. He glanced over at his younger brother who looked extremely bored trotting along next to their Uncle Jaime, the Kingslayer. When he focused back on his father, however, he noticed that the King had acquired a pensive state as something caught his eye. Gendry turned to see what had reduced his father to a most unusually quiet state. It was Winterfell. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"The great castle loomed in the distance, domineering and strong, nothing like the pretty castles of the South that were built for comfort and arrogance rather than defence and practicality. Whilst not a pretty sight, Winterfell permeated an innate strength which allowed it to match the beauty of the North through its might. It was surely a sight to behold to anyone. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""There it is, my son. No one ever forgets their first glance of Winterfell. I remember as clear as a bright summer day the first time that Ned and I rode fast towards it. Towards my Lyanna." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"His father sighed, and then trotted slightly faster as if to get to his dead love. Gendry in that moment felt a stab of pity for the Robert Baratheon that lost his true love, the Lady Lyanna Stark. Who had rose up in rebellion in defence of her. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"However as quickly as that pity was born, it vanished as he remembered all the times his father had bruised his mother in the her name, all because he was too preoccupied loving the memory of Lyanna Stark than the flesh and blood Cersei Lannister. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Feeling slinters of guilt slithering through his body, Gendry hung back to catch up with the coach that carried his Mother and two younger siblings. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"As he rode alongside the wheelhouse, his younger sister noticed him and right away smiled and waved up at him, only pausing to yank at her mothers arm to draw her attention to her eldest son who was riding next to them. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"His Mother looked up, her usually cold, green eyes warming immediately with warmth so close to love before presenting an exterior almost as cold as the North. Gendry had never had a doubt that his mother loved him in her own way. After all, Cersei Lannister loved her family, and he was her eldest son. But he also knew that he was not her preferred child. That was his younger brother, Joffery. He reminded her too much of the man who had fathered him, a man who disgraced and shamed her so often. His likeness to his father, while all her other children were clearly Lannisters, was something that she could not forgive. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""When should we finally arrive at the gates of Winterfell, my love. My little darlings here are freezing?" Cersei questioned coldly, as despite her endearment her words held no warmth. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""The King is just passing through the gates as we speak, my lady. I must hurry to catch up with him, but I wanted to ensure the comfort of you and my brother and sister," he said, sparing a grin for Myrcella and the sleeping Tommen. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"When he glanced back at his mother, he thought he saw for a second a glimpse of pride and love in her eyes for the care that he always showed for Myrcella and Tommen, but it was gone quickly, hidden. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""Of course, my child, go and we shall see you inside the gates of this Northern hell"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Rolling his eyes, he nodded and quickly veered his horse to next to his Uncle Jamie, behind his father, just as the whole of Winterfell bowed in his father's presence. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He looked around him at the castle looming over the courtyard that they were standing in as his father got off his horse to greet a stern looking man who he guessed to be Ned Stark. But he kept looking around, amazed by the architecture and beauty that emanated from Winterfell. The cold beauty was truly fantastic in comparison to the emptiness of the Southron castles. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"However, his attention was demanded as he was called after his Mother to greet the Starks. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"As he walked closer to the party, he could hear his father. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""Ah yes, Ned this is my eldest son and heir, Prince Gendry. I know it is shocking, Ned, it is like another young myself, he resembles me so closely, doesn't he," his father commented with pride. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""Yes very closely," commented a quiet voice, the voice of Ned Stark. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Ned Stark was both nothing and everything like Gendry had imagined. He was tall with a long face and grey eyes that looked slightly familiar. His features were cold but regardless, held warmth long forgotten at court. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry bowed, offering his hand to shake Lord Starks hand. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""It is an honour, Lord Stark. I have heard stories of you, your battles and the famed Winterfell for my entire life. It is an honour to be here," Gendry said sincerely. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Lord Stark bowed in return to his sentiments saying "Likewise, your highness. Winterfell welcomes you, as does my family, to the North." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry inclined his heard in thanks as his younger siblings were introduced to the Starks. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"It was only then that Lord Stark introduced his own children. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""My Prince, please allow me to present my eldest son, Robb, heir to Winterfell." Robb Stark bowed and smiled at the Royal family, and Gendry felt a small hand of his sisters creep into his own big hand. It was Myrcella's little hand, he realised, but he would question her actions later. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""And my two other sons, Brandon and Rickard," both boys bowed similarly to their brother. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""My eldest daughter, the Lady Sansa," /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Now, Gendry was attentive, examining his prospective bride with keen interest. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"She was defiantly beautiful, he supposed, but her beauty was too southron, too pretty and delicate for his own heart to desire. He was so used to seeing such looks that nothing intrigued him any longer. Her long auburn hair shined even in the lacking sunshine of the North and her blue eyes tinkled with excitement and awe at the huge party. He could see the admiration in her eyes for him, but found that it was more for his title and the grandness of the Royal party than truly for himself. Nevertheless, he was determined not to judge her immediately, and thus, took her hand and kissed it, giving her his most heart-breaking smile that had got him between the legs of many women which she blushed profusely on receiving./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""And lastly, my younger daughter, the Lady Arya." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He smiled at Sansa once more, and moved on to her younger sister, only to lock eyes with the stunning and very familiar steel eyes of the girl in the woods. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"She's his daughter, he thought vaguely as pangs of realisation went through him, his other daughter. His younger daughter. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Being drawn out of his musings by Arya raising an eyebrow as he stared, Gendry finally met Arya's eyes with fully and gave her a small knowing smile./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"She is naughty, he thought gleefully. He had not seen guards in the Godswood where he had first met her and thus assumed her to be a stewards or guards daughter. However he had been mistaken, she had gone off by herself. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"How interesting, Gendry thought to himself, she wants independence./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Reaching down for her small hand, he bent slightly to bow over it and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""There my lady, to make up for my lack of proper kisses previously," he whispered, enjoying as the redness that had brushed over her cheeks on seeing him quickly spread to most of her face. Now that he had more time to look at her, he glanced her over once more. Her silver dress was tailored perfectly to reveal just enough to be proper yet tantalising and her long dark hair curled down her back like a waterfall. But it was her eyes that completely mesmerised him. He had perceived her as an angelic being at their first meeting, yet her eyes revealed the devilish interior lurking below. She was utterly intriguing. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He felt his younger sister pull at his hand. Dragged out of his haze, he gazed down at her but Myrcella had her eyes focused on their father who had his beady blue eyes fixated on the Lady Arya with a look of such intensity that Gendry had not been aware that his father could partake in. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He spluttered as he stared at her, before choking out /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""Lyanna"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry looked back at the girl, whose beautiful face was marred with an expression of mixed pity and absolute horror at being called by that name. That dreaded name. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Before Gendry could do anything, Lady Stark, who was not reduced to the state of shocked that Ned Stark was moved into, stirred, moving forward and redirected attention away from Arya./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""No, your Grace, this is my daughter, Arya. Perhaps, your Grace, would like to come inside for some ale and refreshments before dinner? We have quality dornish wine imported especially," she breathed quickly. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"But the King only smiled, ignoring her proposal, merely shouting "Ned, I would like to pay my respects if you will," /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""We have been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait," the Queen said carefully. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"However, as constantly occurred, Robert ignored his wife completely and continued towards, what Gendry presumed were the crypts of Winterfell. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry looked to his mother and saw her look of tolerance. However, under that attitude of nothing caring, Gendry was sure she was at the very least humiliated by her husband's very public rejection of her. However, the queenly Cersei Lannister did not show her true feelings and quickly turned around to command his uncle. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry turned back to the Lady Arya, who he had been standing in front of the entire time. He smiled at her, offering her his arm in order to walk her back to Winterfell./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Arya looked at his arm, regarding it with such a look of distain. Looking back up, she raised an eyebrow and bobbed a small curtsey and flung herself around violently before walking herself back into Winterfell./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry watched her go in quite a confused and amazed state. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"No woman has ever treated me like that before, he thought with confusion, why her. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He was then startled by a small sound coming from next to him as he watch Arya walk angrily but enticingly back into the castle as the crowds of waiting Northerners dispersed. He turned to find the Lady Sansa standing next to him, watching both her sister and his reaction to her sister. As he looked at her, she gave him a serene, slightly expectant smile. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Quickly remembering his manners, Gendry offered her his arm. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU""Excuse me, my lady, your sister quite confused me for a second. Is she always so… tempestuous?" he inquired. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"The lady let out a quiet laugh, "Yes, my prince. Arya has a wildness within her that has never been able to quite be stamped out. She does tend to turn my parents hair white with worry at her antics. But it was extremely kind of your grace to offer her a hand after her embarrassment at being specifically pointed out and being compared so directly to my father's sister," she said sweetly. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry considered this as he began to lead the Lady Sansa back towards the warm entrance of Winterfell. He was unsure of what to make out of his future wife's first comment to him. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"She had related Arya's embarrassment to being compared to a famous beauty rather than what it truly was, of being so fixated on by both the King and Queen and the entire party, already making an enemy of the Queen due to her close resemblance to the Lady style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanThus he suppose Lady Sansa to be completely innocent to the ways of the world and have a lack of innate cunning that did not match her slight malice toward her sister that he supposed was normal in a sister relationship. She believed, in her lack of worldliness, that he would only offer his hand to her sister out of pity and honour. Her innocence and slight arrogance would not permit the thought of a man wanting her sister rather than her. And she was truly beautiful. She would be an ideal wife but not one that he wanted./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"But he did, he resolved, want Arya Stark. Or more specifically at present, he wanted to fuck Arya Stark after merely being in her presence twice. After barely having talked to her. She was beautiful with a very intriguing wildness that permeated her body. He barely knew her; he had barely talked to her. But that did not dampen his desire for her body./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry sighed. It was no use. He couldn't have her. If she were a Southron lady at court, he may have had a chance due to his princely status, but a northern virgin and sister to his betrothed. No she was unreachable, even for a Prince. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Does not matter, he would be fine and his urges would be panting after another girl soon enough, he did not need Arya Stark. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"Gendry had spent too long contemplating his desire of the younger Stark girl, that he realised he had neglected the elder. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"He turned his attention to her. Sansa looked up at Gendry and smiled sweetly, smiled the smile of a child. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"No, he thought instantly, Sansa Stark would bore him within a month. She lacked fire and brimstone, being more aligned with the water of her Mother's house. Despite his own personal reluctance to marry her however, she would make a good Queen, a better Queen than his mother at any rate. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-AU"But he would do his duty; he would always do his duty. He sighed again. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" /p 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four **

Although Gendry had been seated next to the elder Stark sister at the feast that evening, he frequently watched the younger one, her radiant smile lighting up the dark hall, cup of sweet wine in hand.

She's naughty, he thought gleefully enjoying her cheekiness.

Arya Stark, who had come down dressed in the same stunning silver dress, her hair flowing in a cascade of curls down her back, showing her delectable neck and pale shoulders to perfection. A vision of stunning winter next to her sister's change of dress into a dark blue dress that did fit perfectly into her Tully heritage. Now she was sitting laughing with her brothers, not far from the place that Sansa and he were located. Her smile made her face look so joyous and utterly entrancing. She had sat, drank and ate, and thrown food at her younger brothers very cheekily despite her mother's pleading looks constantly thrown her way.

He was stopped in his musings over the younger Stark daughter soon by the elder and his constant drinking.

"So your highness, are you enjoying the North?" Sansa said, ever the proper little lady.

"Yes, my lady, I find the North ever so entrancing and beautiful," he said smiling back at her and glancing over her shoulder at Lady Arya.

Sansa smiled in a confused manner and glanced over her shoulder. Her forehead, most notably the gap between her light red eyebrows, wrinkled in confusion upon spotting the Prince's eyes on Arya.

Obviously not being the sole focus of powerful men was unusual for her, he mused in annoyance.

However just as she was about to say something in response, the King called out for all gracing the hall with their presence to listen.

"I would like to thank my ally and old friend, Lord Eddard Stark and his wife, Lady Catelyn, for welcoming us so warmly to the cold fortress that is Winterfell of the North," the King announced boisterously, his ruddy cheeks shining with drink.

"Hopefully this is the first of many such joinings between Houses Baratheon and Stark," he finished, his eyes shining with the implications of his words as he glanced measuredly toward Gendry and Sansa's seat.

Gendry's eyes immediately sought out his fathers.

Not for the first time in his life, he wondered why he had gotten a father who was as he was. So brash, so utterly unthinking. Uncaring of the free will that others were promised. The Starks had always been the family that Gendry would most likely marry into. He had known that for his entire life. However there was a distinct difference between his own knowledge of a marriage and the entire court knowing. Through that announcement, the marriage was all by signed by both fathers, it was ensured. Gendry rolled his eyes and looked directly to the Queen, his dear mother. She would have something to say about this unanticipated announcement.

She raised her glass to him, his smirk was mirrored in her own face. They both were often appalled by the King's dramatic tendencies. It was something that had drawn them closer over the years.

One thanking his host, the King tumbled back into his seat, leaning over to call a well endowed serving girl to him. So the hall went back to eating and Gendry went back to drinking.

Time seemed to move slowly around him the more he drank. He wanted to sleep, it had been a hard day riding through the snowy fields toward Winterfell. He glimpsed up at his parents. His father was no longer in his seat, probably off between the thighs of one women or another and his mother sat stiffly, with a wine glass in her hand and the Kingslayer at her elbow, whispering in her ear.

Upon recognised both his parent's preoccupation, Gendry deemed it a good time to escape the intense chatter of the hall and any person in general. He stood up and stumbled towards the great oak doors that led outside the hall, hoping for fresh air and a comfortable place to sleep deeply in his drunken stupor.

Once he had crossed the threshold of the hall, he paused to wonder where he should go from there. He was not aware of where his chambers were, or any servants that he could ask.

Then a thought that had been circling through his brain wormed its way to the forefront of his mind as he staggered toward the dark Godswood.

The Godswood looked even more uninviting in the dead of the night than it did during the day. He leaned against the ancient weirwood tree and sighed. It was the hauntingly beautiful peace that had been the most inviting aspect of the woods. It was a place he could escape the nonsense of court, and even worse, he could escape the courtiers. He rested.

His head was still spinning from his excessive drinking when he heard quiet, lithe footsteps making their way toward his current position at the bottom of the tree. But it was only when he spied the wave of a dark curtain of hair fly by his peripheral vision that he grasped who the footsteps belonged to.

"Ah, so we met once again below the Weirwood tree, my lady," he called out to the darkness surrounding him.

A twig snapped on his right side as Lady Arya emerged from the trees with a scowl marring her beautiful features.

"Don't call me that," she snapped angrily at him, coming closer with her grey direwolf seething behind her until it strode off into the dark woods.

He watched her as she moved forward, coming closer to him, with a lazy smile on his face.

"Then what may I call you, my lady?" he questioned sardonically.

"My name," she quipped back immediately, "you may call me Arya."

A pensive look covered his face as he considered why she should allow him of all people to call her by her first name. It was a sign of friendship, he supposed.

But soon he returned, "Well Arya, in that case, you may call me Gendry," he said as he delivered a drunken bow, almost falling toward her, on to his face.

She let out a breathy little laugh before a stoic frown descended once more on to her features with held all the icy cold of the North itself.

"Why did you not tell me who you were? Why were you in the Godswood? And above all, why do you keep staring now?" she hissed at him.

He looked up and smiled.

"Whatever do you mean, my lady Arya?" he whispered.

The smile that adorned his features was cheeky. Paired with his slightly glazed over eyes, Arya knew she would be hard-pressed to get any real answers from him. She had seen this mood, this drunk recklessness, in her brothers much to often.

"While sitting beside my sister, Sansa, during dinner you kept glancing at my brothers and I. So tell me what you want now," she demanded.

Their eyes met once again as she fixed him with a piercing grey stare. His light blue met hers and she felt herself go slightly weak, a strange fluttering occurring in the pits of her stomach. She immediately dismissed it as something bad she ate.

But despite Arya's inability to recognise attraction, she could acknowledge beauty. And Gendry Baratheon was handsome. Very handsome.

Sansa and him would make a fine couple, a striking couple, she thought vaguely. Sansa was the beautiful girl, the very image of their mother, who would marry a perfect Prince and have little princelings and in turn, Arya would be able to stay in Winterfell for a little bit longer before being shipped of into a marriage befitting of her station to be tamed by a husband. Though when that occurred, Arya would fight tooth and nail against it. Sansa would be a queen while Arya remained a lady, thank the Gods.

Lost in her own thoughts, Arya's eyes snapped back up to Gendry when he called her name which she immediately barked a 'yes' to.

"My lady, forgive me if I stared. I was just completely overwhelmed by your utter beauty," he slurred in an almost sincere tone, a smug look on his face.

Arya hand itched to slap his self-satisfied smile off his face. She hated being called beautiful. Though she could now say that she did not feel like ugly little Arya Horseface, Sansa was still the beauty of the family. She did not need Gendry Baratheon flattering her with useless sawder. It only reminded her of what she wasn't.

But nonetheless she answered distastefully rather than with any vulnerability.

"No," she growled, "Your dear future wife has the overwhelming beauty you are referring to. I am content to be better equipped in horse-riding and swordplay."

"Really, my lady, you like to play with swords. Is that all swords?" he asked cheekily.

Arya narrowed her eyes at him, perfectly understanding his meaning due to the incessant japing of Theon.

On noticing her knowing look, he quickly retracted his statement by shame facedly adding that he truly meant to inquire if she practiced with hammers and their like and other such weaponary.

Arya tolled her eyes, but answered immediately, a smile lighting up her face. Her smile made her less a stern Stark and more a sweet summer child, Gendry noted.

She hurriedly told him of her wish to be trained in the style of the Braavos water dance, explaining in tedious detail Winterfell's instructors insistence that had she been given a her dancing master she would have further excelled at swordplay and perhaps matched her brothers own training.

Gendry may have at one time grown bored of a girl talking in such great detail of anything really, but not with this particular girl. Not with Arya. So he questioned her, being drawn into the detailing of her life, of her training, of her.

"So you aim to be both a soldier and half horse, my lady," Gendry inferred as she explained her enjoyment of riding.

She grinned in contentment.

"Yes, I fear that I shall always be the bane of my mothers existence, the shame of my family. A lady who would rather not be a lady," she japed happily.

"I do not think that you could ever be a shame to any family, natural or married into," Gendry said, "I think that your adventurous spirit and rebellious nature gives you a distinction amongst other woman. I mean look at your aunt, she is said to have been as tempestuous as she was beautiful, and she forced war upon the seven kingdoms…" he drew off slowly noticing the pained look on Arya's face.

"Father never talks about her," she ventured to say quietly, "Only sometimes when he says that I am her likeness. But often I will notice him staring at me with the face of someone who is in deep reminiscence of a beloved person."

She glanced up at him, her face still curious, and smiled.

"I understand Arya," Gendry said wistfully, "I often stop a similar look on my father's face. But rather I think he is mourning his own youth."

"Well he certainly did not retain much of his youthful loveliness," Arya blurted out sarcastically.

Gendry laughed good humouredly at that, nodding his own agreement.

"But I think the Lady Lyanna is a sore topic of the entire Kingdom," Gendry said, "particularly for both our fathers, perhaps even my mother. But whatever the damage Lyanna Stark did to the kingdoms, there is no denying her beauty if you are her likeness."

Arya face bloomed with heat, covering her face in embarrassment and no doubt flattery. However she soon remembered her previous friendliness and resumed talking, ignoring his comment.

"I am sorry my lord, I am sure you would not want to talk of a woman who has most likely caused your family nothing but pain," she apologised.

"On the contrary, Lady Arya, any chance to talk to you is a welcome one," he flirted.

Arya let out a laugh, a pushed his shoulder a lot harder than one would expect of one so skinny and small, hissing out an exasperated 'stupid'. He let out a chuckle.

"But in all honestly, my lord, I will talk to you all the time if you tell me of your extensive travels. The entire seven kingdoms have heard tales of the travelling Prince. Have you been as high up to scale the Wall or merely as further down to the sandy slopes of the dornish beaches," Arya asked eagerly.

"Well, my lady, had I scaled the Wall, this would not be my first trip North. But yes, I have lay on the sandy shores of Dorne. Do you hold an interest in travelling?" he queried.

"Yes I do. My elder brother, Jon and I always promised each other when we were young that one day we would travel Westeros together. But soon he will depart for the Wall and I, well, I…" she stuttered.

"Will be sold off to the highest bidder for a Stark daughter," he finished for her.

She nodded miserably.

Gendry felt a flush of sympathy mixed with stark compassion fill him. He reached out and took one of her small hands in his, clasping it tightly with both hands, ignoring the small current that her touch excited in him. To him it seemed cruel to tame such a wild beauty.

"My L… Arya," he whispered intimately, "I am sorry for that. The life of a daughter, having to be a currency used for the furthering of a man, a fathers, wealth and prosperity is one that I abhor. My own precious sister will be sold off soon, most likely to Dorne. I dread that day. I would never impose it own my own daughters."

Arya listened to him finish, her eyes narrowed.

"Yes you will," she said suddenly after a momentary pause, "All men do. Do not make statements that one day may make a hypocrite of you."

Gendry was taken aback by the bold statement.

She was daring and bold, he decided. Outspoken and unflinching in her resolve. And, damn her, very enticing in her stern beauty.

A twig cracked from behind them.  
Arya immediately jumped back, pulling her warm hand from his. Looking wildly at to where the sound came from.

Gendry turned, his eyes clashing with another set of grey eyes that were so similar to the ones he had previously been pierced by.

Ned Stark stared at the couple holding hands under the hearttree with a look of yearning, a look of fearful reminiscent framing his usually cold features.

It was like staring at Robert and Lyanna at the wedding that should have been had it not been for the tourney of Harrenhall and the Dragon Prince.

Ned looked into Arya's eyes as she stared at him sheepishly.

Should he even be surprised to find his youngest and most rebellious child holding hands with a man who was to be her sister's betrothed in the middle of the dark Godswood without a chaperon?

No, he thought dryly, he was not even slightly surprised. But then he knew that Arya would see nothing wrong in her actions. To her, she was still little Arya Underfoot who needed no propriety and could go where she pleased with who ever she desired to.

She did not recognise her own beauty, the beauty that other immediately saw. She did know realise that her resistance to all thing remotely romantic made her only more enticing to men. She was wild, intriguing and beautiful. A hearts desire. The only person who did not acknowledge this was her. Everyone else saw it.

Arya began walking toward him, pausing only to nod at the Prince. When she reached him, she stood on the points of her toes and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, a peace offering, an apology for her rash decision of disobeying his desire for her to stay inside, in the safety of the castle, under his watchful eye.

She walked past him back to the castle without uttering a word.

Ned turned his eye to the Prince then.

"My lord, I am sorry. Your daughter followed me out here merely to inquire some information. There was no harm or intent of harm on either side," Gendry said hurridly, obviously fearing an enraged father that would demand his righting his daughter of any dishonour he had caused.

"I swear I did nothing to take advantage of Arya," he said.

Ned let out a quiet chuckle at that.

"Your highness, I am aware that had you done something dishonourable to my daughter then Prince Joffery would be the newly crowned Prince and heir to the Iron throne. She is quite able to look after her own interests," he responded.

Ned paused, gathering his face to ensure he now be regarded as menacing.

"However, your highness, if you do anything to garner the slightest it of pain in either of my daughters, particularly my Arya, well, the seven kingdoms will not be big enough for you to find a place that is adequately hidden from me," Ned threatened.

Gendry's face reflected his fear at the threat, as Ned face showed no bluff in his words. He was no accustomed to threatening father. Most fathers, and mothers, in the South would push, no throw their daughters, both beautiful and ugly, young and older, at him, hoping that he would take one of them to bed, hopefully resulting in royal favour. Or even pregnancy. All which could lead to a crown. But the Starks were not like that.

Yet another thing I like about the North, thought Gendry.

"Of course, Lord Stark. Both myself and my brother, Joffery will treat your daughters with the upmost respect," he said timidly.

Lord Stark stared at him, no longer in a menacing way, but rather his face held a thoughtful expression exceeded only by the glint of curiosity in his eye.

He began to turn around slowly, only to halt, and look at Gendry again.

"Do not hurt my daughter, your royal highness," he said sternly, immediately turning around and slowing walking back towards Winterfell.

Gendry was perplexed, which daughter did he mean. What was he saying?

Gendry was as good as engaged to Sansa Stark. His father had wanted to join the houses of Stark and Baratheon for as long as Gendry had be born, for as long as he had been a young Robert reborn. And Arya Stark, well she was something to enjoy, someone to chase and get to know for the time being.

Gendry slowly struggled out of the Godswood back to the castle, and the Godswood was silent.


	5. Chapter 5

**HELLLO GOOD AND BEAUTIFUL FOLLOWERS THAT DID NOT GIVE UP ON ME! I am so sorry to have taken soooo long but there have been extenuating circumstances such as I JUST STARTED LAW SCHOOLLLLL (so I have had soooooo much bloody work to do)! and that I had a little bit of writers block! But I'm back and bad and hoping to update maybe not weekly but at least monthly maybe twice monthly! To the Guest who begged me for an update, honey I promise I'm not giving up, I hate it when authors do that so I won't be, you'll just have to bare with me! But thanks for saying you love it, I LOVE YOU! SO without further incessant rambling, here is chapter 5! OH and if any of you can guess the foreshadowing I put in this chapter correctly then I will legit dedicate a chapter to you or whatever you want! Enjoy**

Arya's eyes fluttered open as she heard the gentle opening of shutters within her room. On seeing her elder sister standing over her bed, looking expectantly at her, she instantly rolled her eyes and rolled over away from her with an annoyed groan.

"What do you want Sansa?"

Sansa clicked her tongue in disapproval at Arya's blunt inquiry but was obviously determined to be in a good mood.

"Come Arya, it is time for us and the royal family to break our fast. Mother wants you downstairs in the Great Hall, preferably without either her or the Septa having to come up here and forcibly remove you from your sheets again," Sansa said.

Arya rolled her eyes once again.

"That was only once or twice Sansa," Arya snipped out as she stretched out, yawning on her bed, "You really do have such a stupid tendency to be so overly dramatic."

Sansa just looked at her, no amusement written on her face whatsoever, before speaking once again.

"Honestly, sister," Sansa said completely exacerbated, "Just get washed and dressed. I have ordered the water brought up and I have left your green gown out for you to wear today. Please try to look respectable, only be half wilding today."

Arya laughed at that, noticing that even Sansa's lip turned slightly upwards in a half smile.

"I shall try for that, sister, for you only," she replied in merriment, "No promises though. Us half-wildings are not always able to control our urges, you know."

"Arya," Sansa pleaded in sudden desperation, "If I am to secure a marriage to one of the Princes, preferably the elder, in the next few days before they leave then I must make a good impression on my new family so that they know that I am fit to be a Queen and good enough for their son. As must my family, and that does includes you. So, please just smile and be a lady for once. For me."

Giving her sister one last pleading look, she turned to leave the room, closing the door with a small smile.

Arya sighed, immediately flopping back on to the bed intent on returning to her slumbering state. She turned her head to stretch it once more, only to be met with the sight of the ugly green dress next to her bed. She eyed it with distain. But slowly pushed herself upright as she remembered her sisters pleading.

Well I am defiantly not wearing that, she thought, no matter how much Sansa beseeches me.

This thought spurred her into action as Arya got up, stretched once more, and made her way towards her dresser. She glanced back at the dress but kept going, walking straight past it. Once she reached her cabinet, she immediately dropped to her knees and reached underneath the wooden case to pull out a pair of old rumpled breeches and a plain cotton top.

Slowly she stood up and dressed.

Her mother would be absolutely furious when she saw her like this, so would Sansa. But today was a day for training and fighting with Jon, not prancing around, looking pretty, and eating lemon cakes. She had done that the last few days and she was defiantly done with it. She had earned a break from it.

So she pulled on her scratched boots and walked to the door, closing it carefully behind her.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was beginning to fill as Jon sat, munching on his breakfast toward the back of the hall. His exile from the great table where the rest of his family sat had continued through the royal family's visit. However, they were soon to leave then he would finally get to be with them once again. It was a lonely spot, a lonely morning, being at the back of the hall. There was no chatting with Robb or laughing as Arya did something that once again disappointed her mother and amused their brothers. Or even smiling quietly with his father as they bid each other a good morning.

But it will all return to normal again soon, he thought as he watched his family all take their places along with the Queen and her children, all chatting cheerfully except the Queen, whose face revealed her sour contempt for the environment surrounding her despite what Jon thought was a warm and comfortable morning in the cold North.

However his eyes scanned the table once more, noticing something.

He frowned, where was Arya. She was the only one not seated, the only one of his siblings missing from the High table.

What a surprise, he thought dryly, she's probably asleep with the Septa standing over her ordering her to wake up before she gets Jory to pull her from her bed.

Amongst his pondering, Jon felt a weight settle into the bench next to him. He flicked an eye over to where the presence was felt only to find himself staring at the wide smile of the Crown Prince.

"Good Morrow," he said with another kind smile, "I'm Gendry."

He offered his hand to Jon, who took it very hesitantly, shaking it daintily like he might break off the royal's hand.

"My name is Jon, Your Highness, Jon Snow."  
"It is very good to meet you, Jon," he answered, "And Gendry is my name, none of these 'your highness' or other titles please. I came to introduce myself and ask if we could have a match after breakfast in the training courts."

Jon's confusion must have shown on his face as Gendry then explained his interest in sparring with him.

"Your brother, Robb was telling me, well more specially boasting of his own skills with a sword as one of the best in Winterfell, well the best out of the Stark's anyway. But one of your very loyal younger brother immediately called him out on his lies and claimed you to be the better swordsman of the two," he clarified, "Robb then begrudgingly admitted you were the better, particularly in imparting those skills, so here I am."

Jon nodded gravely and waited for him to continue.

"So here I am," he once again reiterated, "A terrible swordsman who was hoping that through us having a match I could perhaps enhance my skills with my most disliked weapon. If you wouldn't mind helping me of course."

"Of course, your hig…" he halted his sentence on a pained look on the Prince's face, "Of course, Gendry."

Gendry smiled at that.

"Is anyone sitting here?" he asked suddenly looking up and down the bench.

Jon shook his head, his eyes finding the floor. No one would demean themselves to sit with a bastard but the drunkest of men.

"Well then you won't mind if I stay here and have some breakfast with you then we can head straight out to the training yards afterwards as long as you're able to," he stated, gesturing for a nearby maid to bring him some food.

Jon smiled gratefully, nodding his assent.

It turned out that the Prince talking so much was a rarity. He was quiet but easy-going in their subsequent conversation. He asked Jon questions and listened carefully to his answers, answering Jon's with quiet enthusiasm. It was odd to be treated with so much consideration and even friendship by someone of such high status. So it was then that a friendship began to bloom between the two.

However, there was a palpable sense of disapproval that Jon could feel in the air, a constant frowning that was directed at the two boys talking and joking and, after some time, laughing. An annoyance at the Prince for so openly favouring a bastard over the others in the hall, who were all of such high and noble birth, fit for a Prince to sit and have breakfast with. But the Prince paid this no attention barring when he sneered at a man who came to invite him to his own table by demeaning sitting with Jon.

They continued talking and laughing so loudly that soon Robb snuck his way over the join the fun with Theon venturing over only a couple of minutes after. Soon all four boys were bonding over stories and tales of conquests, failures and a whole manner of other things. Theon was just in the middle of telling a boisterous story about himself and three whores when a hush fell over the hall, particularly the high table.

Jon glanced around the hall his eyes alighting on a figure walking through it, oblivious to the trouble she had stirred up, the eyes of the whole court now glued on her figure as she pranced up to the high table.

Arya, snug and comfortable in a pair of Bran's old, dirty breeches, with a sword on her hip, Nymeria trotting behing her.

Oh Gods, Jon thought as he looked immediately to Sansa whose face almost matched her flaming hair, embarrassment and anger covering her face like a bad rash, she looks like a wildling.

Jon bit his lip to hide his smile at his little sister's lack of adherence to being a noble woman of House Stark. She rebelled against all the expectations of her gender with a fierceness that rivalled a dragons fire. It was something that he and his brothers, and even their father Jon believed, had always enjoyed about her. She was always surprising, never typical in the slightest. Her smile was always a promise of mischievousness rather than the classical obedience exhibited by the majority of highborn women.

His sister was still making her way toward her seat on the dais when Jon heard an amused chuckle. He turned his head back toward Gendry, who was also watching his sister with something akin to interest and pleasure.

"She's certainly something else, isn't she?" Jon offered in good humour, glancing back at Arya.

"She most certainly is," Gendry agreed, "Something else entirely. Does she always make such bold statements to all of Winterfell by running around in boys clothes?"

"Yes quite often," he replied, "I don't think that Arya really understands how her actions will impact others. Such as right now, I think Sansa is debating whether to choke or strangle her."

Gendry looked up to Sansa and let out a bellow of a laugh at her utterly mortified expression.

"She certainly does look mighty distressed," he japed, "I don't know why though, I think Lady Arya looks very pleasing to the eye in such clothes. They do exemplify her asserts as well as her true nature to any man who would wish to marry, no tame her. No man wants to marry blindly."

Jon nodded his agreement and they continued eating and japing until Jon felt a hand on his shoulder and a gentle kiss on his cheek. But before he could turn, Arya was already sliding into the seat in front of him next to Robb. She glanced at the Prince before facing him, completely ignoring their royal guest.

"Jon if your not busy today after you have finished eating, could we have a round in the practise yards?" she asked immediately, an air of hopefulness embedded in her request.

Jon's lips quirked in a faint smile at her question.

"I am helping his highness today, little sister, but perhaps if you ask him nicely, though that may be challenging for you, you would be able to come along," he answered.

Arya's eyes flickered to the Prince in distain, her raised eyebrow asking silently if she should be able to go with them.

When the Prince merely continued to eat, not responding at all, Arya grew frustrated and looked away disheartened.

"Why are you sitting down here, Arya?" Jon inquired after a minute of silence.

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Well normally it's easy to ignore Mother and Sansa's distain for my attire and my desire to training but with the Queen there too, it was like a trio of motherly disapproval. Only the little Princess seemed remotely pleased, in that, she was defiantly curious about all the sword wearing and men's clothes." she explained, "So I came down here to sit with someone who wouldn't mind what I am wearing. Someone, who wouldn't rate its importance as paramount. "

"Well I certainly don't mind, little sister, you won't find any need for propriety down here with me," Jon said smiling, "You know that I encourage you in all of your unladylike pursuits."

Arya let out a small laugh, but just as she was about to reply to his assertion, the King stood up in the middle of the hall that was now full of courtiers and Northerners eating what Winterfell had provided. The King who could for once stand straight, as he had not been drinking at this particular meal, began to address the entire crowd.

"Before we finish this meal, I have an excellent announcement to make. Lord Stark has agreed to become, after the death of our great friend, Jon Arryn, the next Hand of the King. He and his family will travel back to King's Landing with us within the fortnight…"

The King babbled on for a while with japing or seriousness, Jon did not know. He was fixated by the idea that his family was leaving him. Leaving the North. He knew that he would not be able to come with them to King's Landing. The Lady Catelyn barely tolerated his presence at the high table of the Stark's, where by birthright he had more right to be than her. But she would not allow him to be in a place where people would recognise him as Ned Stark's only betrayal to her. He would be staying behind or sent off somewhere, maybe to some Lord's keep. Or perhaps his father would order him to stay here if Robb stayed behind. After all there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

Perhaps Father will finally allow me to join the Night's Watch with Uncle Benjen like I have wanted to for years, he thought hopefully, I could be a Ranger.

His heart soared. Even a bastard could be ambitious on the Wall. He would no longer be labelled or judged as a temporary lapse in the honour of Eddard Stark. He could be a hero among his brothers, the men of the honourable Night's Watch.

But then I lose everyone around me now, he thought glumly, glancing directly at Arya and Robb, whose faces were a mix of both rage, fear and utter surprise at being removed so suddenly from their Northern abode.

I would likely never see Arya again or Robb, Bran or little Rickon, he thought in dread, I'd even miss Sansa, who dislikes me as much as her mother does.

Still contemplating this awful fate, Jon felt a hand clap his shoulder.

"Well," Gendry said in elation, "Looks like summer is coming for you Starks. You'll be coming down to King's Landing with all of us Southron folk."

Arya snorted and mumbled something that sounded very much like "Not if I have anything to say about it."

Jon shook his head.

"I am not a Stark, my lord," he replied with indifference, "There will be no summer for me."

Gendry quietened, looking at Jon with a reflective glimmer to his eye that Jon felt meant the wheels were turning in his head.

"We shall see," Gendry said quietly, "Anyway the hall is beginning to empty out, why don't we go and start training if you have had enough to eat and drink?"

Jon nodded and rose, briefly glancing at Arya who looked uncertain to if she was invited to partake in this lesson of swordplay. But just as he was about to say something, the Prince made a gesture with his head to Arya, gently throwing his head in the way of the practice courts.

Arya immediately grasped his permission and scrambled up to join her brother and the Prince walking toward the practice courts, a beautiful smile spreading over her face as she stepped next to him.

They hurried toward the practice courts, particular Arya who was probably trying to outrun the eyes of an angry Septa or an even angrier Lady Catelyn who would inevitably come after her. But she was obviously determined to get in a round or two before then.

The practice yards were empty at this time, but Jon knew that as soon as some time had passed, it would begin to fill up.

Arya immediately hopped over the fence, and plopped down into the court, beginning to stretch herself.

Jon pulled out his sword, looking to the Prince in anticipation of starting to train but the Prince was no longer paying attention to him.

He was staring at Arya with a hungry look.

Looks like he's lusting after the wrong sister, Jon thought quirking an eyebrow pensively, well Arya has turned out to be very beautiful, a true Northern beauty through and through.

But a frown descended onto Jon's face.

But it's my other sister he will be most likely to be engaged to and then marry, Jon thought. But he shook his head of this thought knowing that that heated look that the Prince had given Arya would most likely come to nothing.  
But Jon couldn't rid himself of this niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach; in the depths of his very subconscious that this was in no way the end of that look.

But he quickly dismissed it, turning to the Prince once more.

"Your Highness," Jon called, awakening the Prince from his stupor, "If you would like to begin we will. Arya will be stretching for a while."

He spun around, looking guilty for being caught eying the younger Stark girl. But he laughed it off and reached for a finely made sword that resided in his belt.

"Now Jon," he started, "I was not japing when I relayed the sad story of my skills with a sword. I am not made for one."

"We shall see then, your Highness," Jon replied demurely, hoping the Prince was being modest.

As it turned out the Prince was both modest and truthful in his assessment of his own skills. He could hold a fight but for a mere minute against an ordinary swordsman and against Jon, well Arya's laughter booming through the courts was enough of an affirmation of his pitiful swordplay.

The Prince was unashamed of his lacking swordplay, merely affirming that just because the sword was not his weapon, it did not mean he didn't have one in which he excelled in combat.

So slowly Jon assisted him, aiding him in correcting his pitiable stance, posture and poor grip. Gently coaching him into the right position to equal him in a fight.

Even Arya, who had showed her scorn at first for a man to be such a inadequate swordsman, would on occasion shout out something for Jon to correct in the Prince.

Soon they battled more equally. More strategy was entrenched within the Prince's movements. He improved as they fought through the morning, merely needing some coaching to bring out the skills that he already had at his fingertips.

Sweat was pouring down the two boy's backs before they ceased fighting. The North may have been cold but such hard exertion had them both heaving and drenched in sweat.

"Well done, my lord," Jon congratulated solemnly as he finally caught his breath back, "You have much improved even in the short time we trained. If we keep training, I think that you will equal your uncle, the Kingslayer, in no time."

Gendry laughed in scorn at Jon's last statement hearing both the sarcasm and hope in his voice.

"My name is Gendry, remember," he said after his laughter had ceased, glaring at Jon who looked to his feet, "And thank-you. You really are an excellent swordsman, Jon. Your brothers were quite correct. Should you ever want a position in my Kingsguard I would give it without a second thought."

Both reverted to silence, quietly contemplating, before a sneering shout broke through the air, followed by a question posed.

"Why does a girl have a sword?" snivelled the less gallant Prince from the side of the training yard to Arya.

Arya who had been forgotten in the midst of the fight, glared defiantly back at Joffrey.

But it was Gendry's voice that rang out across the yard.

"I could ask the same of you, brother or should I call you sister," he replied, glaring heatedly at his brother.

Arya crowed with laughter at that, jumping up and stalking toward Joffrey, pulling a glove from a post along with her as she moved defiantly toward him.

When Jon saw the glove touch the ground at Joffrey's feet, he wanted to groan in frustration.

Typical bloody Arya, he thought in annoyance, doesn't think about the consequences that her damned actions will have, just does the bloody action.

"Did your sister just challenge my brother to a duel?" the Prince whispered, watching the pair on the other side of the practice courts.

"Of course she bloody did," Jon replied in irritation, "You may not know my sister well, Gendry but this is typical bloody Arya. The amount of guards and even northern lords that she has challenged, though half do not take her up on it."

"Does she stand a chance against him?" Gendry questioned.

"Arya's very good no doubt about it," Jon reasoned, "But she often lacks the strength that men double her size possess. Don't ever tell her this but I think some of biggest knights do go slightly easier on her compared to other boys who they fight. I am not insulting her sex, but sometimes woman unfortunately do not have the strength that a man does."

He glanced back at the wormy little golden Prince who had entranced Sansa so much.

"And, not to cause any offence, your Highness but your brother doesn't strike as one who would go easy in a fight on anyone, regardless of gender."

Gendry bowed his head solemnly and nodded, looking back at Arya in concern.

"You know once," he started quietly, "He cut a pregnant cat open and pulled out the kittens to show our Father. Father was so disgusted he almost had him whipped for his act."

Gendry's sentence drew off, obviously in deep thought.

"So," he said, regaining his wits from his pensive state, "No disrespect to your sister but the action she just took, well it was unwise to say the least."

"I cannot forbid it of her," Jon said painfully, "With Arya, if you deny her anything, it will become her hearts deepest desire. And she will chase after it like a hunter toward a prized stag."

Gendry sighed which was then repeated by Jon as Joffrey picked up the glove and called for his sword.

Arya looked utterly elated that the 'Prick Prince', as she had been calling him since the arrival of the Royal family, had accepted her offer for swordplay.

Arya carefully drew out one of the lighter swords that she usually practised with from her belt. It fit well in Arya's hand and played off her strength to the best of its ability. It would hopefully give her a decisive advantage against the younger Prince.

Slowly Arya walked to the middle of court and settled into a comfortable stance to begin. Joffrey however laughed, taking his time twisting his dainty sword, performing a move or two to rile Arya up. But to Jon's amazement, she wasn't swayed in her concentration, merely continuing to watch Joffrey calmly.

Seeing that his mocking had no effect on Arya, Joffrey walked to the middle of the field also dropping into position.

They circled each other. Joffrey with a mocking swagger while Arya careful moved with her eyes planted firmly on her prey.

Then Joffrey struck, obviously anticipating an easy victory. But it turned out to be anything but that.

Swords clashed and whipped around the opponents as they went after each other again and again. Joffrey's attacks were unpredictable. But though he struck in a fast manner, there was an unskilled, unpractised edge to his lunges. Arya was more concentrated in her attacks, more ferocious as she darted toward Joffrey again and again. But despite being proud as Jon was of his little sister's cold measured swordplay that she had mostly learned from him, he could tell that in end she would most likely lose. Joffrey may not have had many skills to hold over her head but he had the strength of a man, albeit a small and weak looking one, but still a man.

Arya's only weakness was her lack of innate strength.

But she fought her hardest, refusing to lose without a fight.  
The fight continued and just as Jon thought perhaps superior skills and cunning could outmatch brawn everytime, it all came crashing down around his ears.

Arya, who fought with her left hand, attacked Joffrey's right, leaving her own right side unguarded. As soon as Jon's eyes locked on that little mistake, he knew that Joffrey's would not take much longer to notice her weaknest.

But someone else seemed to notice faster. Just as Joffrey lunged for Arya's side, another sword found it's way there, halting its attack just before it buried itself deep into between Arya's ribs, leaving nothing but a small glow of red that indicated a cut discernable to Jon's eye.

Prince Gendry kept fighting Joffrey, not stopping after halting his attack on Arya, launching swipe after swipe at his brother until he finally dropped his sword with a clatter on the dirt of the yards.

Then he stood there, his sword to Joffrey's throat, glaring in such a menacing way that even Jon was quivering to his boots at just being witness to its intensity.

"We don't hurt ladies," Gendry eventually spat out through gritted teeth at his younger brother.

Prince Joffrey's fear permeated the atmosphere of the training yards, his face was curled up in terror as if he were about to cry.

"We don't hurt ladies," Joffrey repeated like a puppet, and Jon got the sense that this wasn't the first time that Joffrey had acted thus only to be brought back into line by his elder brother.

The elder Prince lowered his sword; spitting words out that made Joffrey scamper away and back into Winterfell, presumably to hide behind his mother's long red skirts.

Gendry slowly turned around and walked to Arya who was still standing there, swaying slightly her sword dragging into the floor.

He smiled at her.

"I'm sorry I had to step in, my lady," he said apologetically, gesturing around him, "Do not construe my actions as me thinking you incapable of defending yourself. It was merely… that some things are between brothers, and need to be solved by brothers."

Gendry peeked up at Arya through the fringe of his hair again, his face forming a tight frown at her non-response. But then his eyes widened in fear as Arya pitched slightly forward, and he caught her, swooping her up into his arms. It was only then that Jon notices that the small patch of blood had grown substantially in size.

"Jon," he called as Jon started forward in anxiety for his sister, "Fetch the master now."

And Jon ran faster than he had in years.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey Everyone,

So here is the thing, I have had this chapter written for ages, I have even posted it on AO3, but I cannot for the life of me upload it here. Not that I don't want to, I have been trying to over and over again, but it just loads and then there is no document in the Doc Manager. Its getting to the stage where I am so feed up with I just do everything on go old AO3! I even have a new story there! So basically if anyone could help that would be amazing. If not, please go to AO3 if you want to read the new chapter and the rest of the story!

Don't even know if this notes going to post but here's hoping!

Thanks and hope you come over to AO3,

Mia or yourloved


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry forgot to put the link

/works/2629325/chapters/5866331

:)


End file.
